


Dangerous Sentiments

by badskin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Outlaw Queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6331762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskin/pseuds/badskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina Mills' fiancé, a Secret Service agent, was dead, and she was sure his demise had been no accident.  But what did a dyed-in-the-wool New Englander, a writer of cookbooks, know about the Secret Service?</p><p>Regina was finding out a lot. And she had to let Robin Locksley know―fast. Though she had only just met Robin, her fiancé's magnetic partner, she felt she could trust him.</p><p>Robin felt the same about Regina. He had to protect her, to stay close by, even though instinct warned him to back off. Only three weeks remained―to uncover motives, to catch the traitor...to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely people. I have come up with another AU OQ story. I have decided to live in AU, and OQ AU fanfics makes me happy. Anyway, this story was set in the 80s so technology of course wont be much yet :) Regina's age is late twenties here and Robin is early thirties, for your reference. I did some research, wikipedia helps so much, and of course, google. I love researching, and writing takes away all the troubles and pressures from work. Anywho, no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

Regina Mills tilted her head back and looked up at the nondescript concrete office building. Yes, this was it: 470 Atlantic Avenue. Practically on Boston's waterfront. Somehow she'd expected it to be more prepossessing, more imposing, more  _something._

She wiped beads of sweat from her upper lip and drew in a lungful of hot, muggy air. She glanced at her watch: 11:30 am. Time for her appointment. 

The directory inside said merely U.S. Secret Service, fifth floor. Daniel had worked here, she couldn't help but recall. The lobby, the directory, the chair and the elevator doors must have been as familiar to him as his own home. 

Thank goodness it was cool in the building. She was nervous enough without the additional irritant of pouring sweat. The elevator doors hissed shut, and Regina drew in another deep breath.

What exactly would she say to Daniel's superior? Special Agent in Charge Albert Spencer? Daniel had always called him "chief." Chief Spencer, head of the Boston office of the Secret Service. Regina had spoken to him on the phone finally, after trying to reach him for several weeks, and they had made this appointment. 

What exactly _would_ she say? She closed her wide brown eyes and sighed. Would she tell him that her fiancé, Daniel Colter, had told her in strict confidence, totally against security regulations, that he'd discussed there was a traitor in the Boston Secret Service office? Should she tell him everything―that Daniel had been collecting proof that one of the agents in his office had given top-secret information to the Russians, vital information that would compromise the Service, the U.S. government and world peace?

She knew plenty; Daniel had trusted her with his secrets. She knew all about his office, the foibles and the eccentricities of his co-workers, the leads in the latest case, everything.

Except the name of the traitor. He'd told her he couldn't reveal _that_ until he had exposed the whole plot to his superiors in Washington. 

_"That's one piece of information that's just too hot to handle, Regina," he'd said smiling, his beloved, familiar face close to hers, his hand on her shoulder._

So now she had to face Special Agent in Charge Spencer with all the pieces of the puzzle but one, the most important one, the piece that revealed the face of the traitor. For all she knew, it could be the chief himself, or anyone else in the office. 

And Daniel couldn't divulge the identity of that person. Daniel couldn't help her. Not anymore.

Daniel is gone.

The elevator light showed 5, and the doors whispered open. An entrance across from her was labeled U.S. Secret Service in small, stenciled letters.

The pleasant-faced receptionist issued Regina a badge with her name typed on it. "Security," the woman explained, smiling apologetically. Regina was led past desks and windowed office doors, aware that everyone there was watching her. They must have known that she'd been Daniel's fiancée, and wondered what she was doing in the office. She felt curious gazes crawl up her back like insect's feet walking to her. 

"Miss Mills," announced the receptionist.

Albert Spencer rose from his chair and moved out from behind his desk, his and stretched forward. He was tall, and quite lean. His face, which was supported by a bull-like neck was square and fatherly and he must be attractive in his younger years. He had a certain appeal, that of a man who was comfortable with himself, who'd settled for what he was and decided he liked it. His blue eyes, deep-set under greying brows, were warm and expressive.

"Miss Mills," he said in a deep, gravelly, reassuring voice. "A pleasure."

He shook his hand; it was cool and strong. "Please call me Regina," she said. "And I want to thank you for the flowers and the nice letter you sent."

"The least I could do," he said, his brows drawing together in a frown. "An awful thing, Regina. A young, smart fella like Daniel. We were all so shocked. I'll tell you, someone ought to do something about the crime in this city these days."

He pulled up a comfortable chair for her and seated himself behind his desk. Sitting down, he even appeared broad and powerful. 

"I'm glad to have the opportunity of offering my condolences in person, at least," Spencer said kindly.

Regina felt the familiar wave of emptiness, the black, engulfing void sweep her. She fought it. Daniel was gone and she had a job to do. "Thank you," she said softly. 

The chief was watching her carefully. Did he expect her to cry or break down or something? Or was he merely wondering why she wanted to see him? 

"You've driven quite a ways," he offered. "A couple of hours from the ferry isn't it?" 

"An hour and half from Woods Hole. I'm used to it." 

"I guessed you are, living on an island like that. Daniel used to tell me about Martha's Vineyard. To hear him talk it was heaven on earth." 

"It is lovely," she agreed. "But I didn't come to Boston to waste your time, Chief Spencer.." She felt her cheeks grow hot with discomfort. This was the hard part. How much to say? She shifted in her chair and pushed back some of the hair on her side of her face in a nervous gesture. 

"You realize don't you, that Daniel's death was not an accident," she began.

Albert Spencer moved forward and stared at her. "Not an accident? What do you mean?" 

"I mean I don't believe he was killed by a burglar who was trying to rob his apartment."

"I think, Regina, you will have to explain that a bit more."

"I think Daniel was deliberately murdered."

"But why?" asked Spencer, agitated.

She could not tell him precisely why. If he were the guilty one, the traitor whom Daniel had confronted, he knew why already. Not that she really believed Albert Spencer was the one. Why, he had a very high security clearance, didn't he? And why would a nice, responsible, family man like Spencer's be involved in espionage? Daniel had respected his boss's professionalism and skill. But still, she needed to feel him out before she could tell him the whole truth. 

"I'm not sure," she insisted staunchly, "but I don't believe anyone could have gotten into his apartment and surprised him like that."

"So who do think shot him, then?" asked Spencer. carefully, as if humoring a child. 

"I don't know. Maybe someone from that counterfeiting case he was on," she suggested. 

Spencer's eyes flicked to hers instantly. "You knew about that?" 

Lowering her gaze modestly, Regina murmured, "Well, you know, he told me a few thing. Not much. Nothing that was important. A man has to talk..." 

Relaxing in his chair, the chief picked up a pencil and began playing with it, turning it end over end. "I think there have been more coups given away, more battles lost, more security breaches that way than any other. Pillow talk," he said disdainfully.

"Really, it was only gossip. Nothing important, like I said," Regina hastened to explain. "Daniel took his job very seriously."

"I know," relented Spencer. He fixed her with an implacable gaze. "Have you spoken to the police about your suspicions?"

"I've been in touch with them in the past couple of weeks. They are very kind and helpful, but they have no leads on the so-called burglar's identity." 

"It's a shame," said Spencer, "but too often this sort of case goes unsolved." 

"The problem is," Regina continued, "nothing was found to be missing in his place."

"Nothing?"

"No. At least, nothing of any value. Daniel didn't exactly have much worth taking, but still..."

"I see. And that's why you're wondering if it was a burglar, at all?"

"It's more than that. You see, Daniel was on to something―" Suddenly, Regina stopped herself, not daring to continue. Perhaps she'd already said too much.

"On to something?" His eyebrows rose. 

"Well, I mean the counterfeiting case and all," she insisted hastily. 

"Umm." Albert Spencer studied her for a moment. "And you're sure that's all your basing your suspicion's on?" 

"I... Yes. I'm sure."

"Look," he said then. "I can understand your concern, all the frustrations, but it's very difficult to believe that Daniel was killed in the line of duty. I hate to say it―" he paused "―but I'm afraid Daniel interrupted a burglar and the man panicked. It happens everyday." 

"But there's no proof of that," began Regina.

"Listen, if there's anything I can do to help... _anything,_ I certainly will." 

"Maybe you could talk to the police yourself. I don't know. It just seems that someone should be doing more. I mean, there's no motive and there are no suspects."

She was dying to tell him everything, but she was not sure yet. Spencer, ridiculous as it still seemed, could be the man who had killed Daniel. "If you could talk to the police," she repeated, "nudge them a little."

"I can do that." he nodded. "I have a few friends on the force. I'm sure if I speak to them... Who knows, maybe there  _is_  something they overlooked. It can't hurt. Although," he added, "I have to tell you that I never thought Daniel's death was anything but accident." He smiled patronizingly. 

He was humoring her; he had probably do nothing at all about it. He thought she was crazy, paranoid, someone who needed to pin the blame on a specific person. Accidental death was so senseless, so futile. 

She rose, feeling frustration swamp her, still longing to say more to this man yet afraid to tell him she knew Daniel's death was no accident, no coincidence. 

_Daniel left her that day a month ago to return to Boston and confront the traitor. He had kissed her goodbye on the dock at the Vineyard Haven ferry terminal, smiled gaily, boarded waved to her from the fat-sided Island Queen. It had been hot and humid on the island of Martha's Vineyard that day. Beach weather. Tourist weather._

_"Be careful!" she had shouted to him through cupped hands as the boat had pulled away. But just then the ferry's foghorn had blown and he had not heard her. He had been nodding and grinning and waving to her, and she had lifted her hand to wave back when a sudden chill had seized her. She had wished, at that time, that he had heard her warning. Later, she felt that perhaps it could have made all the difference if he had heeded her words._

_She had remained there a long time, watching the ferry churn away from the island, watching the sea gulls hang motionless above the curling wake, begging for scraps of food from the tourists._

That had been the last time she had seen Daniel. He had been shot to death that night in his apartment on Commonwealth Avenue.

"I just want to repeat," Albert Spencer was saying, "how very sorry I am. I know you and Daniel were going to be married soon. I understand your concern."

"Thank you," she mumbled again. It was useless. She could not confide in him, and he would not believe her if she did not. Impasse. She had hoped to accomplish more by coming here, but obviously Daniel's chief was satisfied to call it accidental death. 

The badge pinned onto her thin, ream blouse pulled at the fabric, dragging it down embarrassingly. It wouldn't matter if she were flat-chested or not, she thought, trying to adjust it as she walked back down the hallway toward the receptionist's desk. She was glad to unpin the awkward thing and hand it back to the woman. 

"I want you to know," began the receptionist timidly, "how sorry we all are."

"Thank you." It was becoming a stock phrase. A month of uncomfortable people telling her how dreadful, how awful it was, how sorry they were. Sometimes grieving seemed to be a game with rules that had been written by a sadist. All Regina had wanted to do was suffer quietly. Then, when the worst had been over, and she had come to grips with her loss, she had emerged into a world where everyone became hushed and unnatural around her, issuing platitudes and pity clichés that did not help her a bit. 

At times Regina had wanted to cry it out at the injustice of treating her like a leper. But mostly she just smiled and thanked them and tried to forget it. It would pass.

Waiting in the cool corridor for the elevator, Regina tried to think. What should she do next? Go to the police with her story? They would laugh in her face. She had no proof―except for Daniel's murder, which to them was not a murder at all but a perfectly normal, straightforward burglary. 

Would everyone in the office talk about her now? Would they chuckle over Spencer's story about her ridiculous suspicions? The elevator swished and clanked, approaching. Footsteps rang on the hard floor behind her. She turned―out of vague, automatic curiosity―to see a strange man walking toward her. She had an impression of height and athletic carriage, he was average in height, a blur of light brown hair, strong features, a tie loosened to a muscular neck. and a Secret Service badge pinned to the pocket of his neat white shirt. 

"Miss Mills?" he asked.

"Yes?" she had to tip her head up to look into his face. He had to be 5"11 at least. A nice manly face, covered in medium stubble and spoke with an English accent. 

"I'm Robin Locksley. You may have heard..." 

"You were Daniel's partner in the counterfeiting case," she said, abruptly remembering. "He spoke of you." She held her hand out. He hesitated for a split second, then grasped it. "I'm glad to meet you." 

"Likewise," he said. "I want you to know how sorry I am about Daniel." 

"Thank you." She felt like a windup doll. She hoped he would not go on about it. Pity was so detestable. 

"Look, I meant to call you a dozen times but I'm not very good at things like that. I liked Daniel a lot. We got to be pretty close."

"He told me." At least this Robin was admitting his discomfort. That was refreshing. 

The elevator arrived, thumping. Its doors hissed open. Robin Locksley looked at them as if considering something. "I wonder if you'd like to have lunch with me? That is, if you're not in a hurry." 

She cocked her head. "Is this invitation to soothe your conscience?" she offered gently. 

He grinned, his dimples showing beneath his stubble. "I guess I'm pretty transparent."

"Well, in that case, I would love to. I'd hate to think of leaving you in an emotional limbo."

"Great, let me get my jacket." 

The elevator doors slid shut; the mechanism swished, groaning, to another floor, leaving her standing there. 

Robin Locksley. Of course. Regina felt as if weight had been lifted from her shoulders. How many times had Daniel discussed his new partner? Everything Daniel told her came flooding back to her mind. Robin had a rough upbringing. Divorced parents, his mother remarrying and bringing him to the States when he was 13. His mother was totally incapable of handling him. He ended up running away, associating himself a gang of teenage boys and leading them to steal from rich people's houses in Greenwich, and giving to the fellow homeless. Foster homes, had trouble with the law. He either would have been in the juvie prison or military school. He chose the latter, and the military had straightened him out―the hard way, according to Daniel. That and an older step brother who apparently cared about him. 

Daniel had liked his new partner. But more than that, he had trusted him. He had said a dozen times that Robin could be counted on―absolutely. 

In fact, Daniel had been going to tell Robin of the plot he had uncovered as soon as he'd obtained more proof...

"All set," came Robin's voice. He stood before her, his tie in place, a lightweight khaki jacket over his short-sleeved shirt. Everything about him was crisp, military perfect. His light brown hair combed on the side. A woodsy after-shave. Clear, blue eyes under straight brows. Strong nose, strong jaw. 

They had to wait for the elevator. "Where to?" asked Robin easily. 

"Someplace old and historic," said Regina. "I'm a chump for the corny, vintage stuff."

"Not fast food?" he asked drolly.

She chuckled. "Try again." 

"The Union Oyster House," he stated firmly. 

"Perfect." 

They walked. Downtown Boston was really a very small place, rather cozy and intimate and bursting with historic buildings, each one duly noted by a bronze plaque or a quaint wooden sign. The scent of sea air drifted by on the occasional hot breeze, and narrow shaded alleyways beckoned. 

It was nice to be walking with a good-looking man again. She could not resist studying him out of the corner of her eyes. He wasn't really so tall, unlike Daniel but the graceful way he carried himself made him appear so. His body was spare and neat and strong under the suit. Regina was a little embarrassed, knowing more about Robin Locksley, she was sure, than he would have liked.  He certainly did not appear to be the juvenile delinquent type anymore. She was suddenly curious about the path he had traveled from his troubled younger years. 

He turned then and smiled at her, a boyish smile that changed his expression totally―from sober aloofness to charming interest. She had bet he did not smile that way nearly as often as he should. She also bet he would not smile when she told him about Daniel's murder and plot. 

Ye Olde Union Oyster House, Est. 1826, read the sign. It was a very old brick building with awnings, small many-paned windows and dormers on the roof. Inside, Robin practically had to duck to avoid a good bump on the head from the low ceiling beams. 

They were seated at a window table upstairs. The place was full of typical Bostonians: casually dressed New England businessmen, ladies from the suburbs on shopping trips, tweedy college professor, students.

A congenial lunchtime din filled the building, and Regina felt able to relax over a white wine. Robin, as he was returning to work, had iced tea. They made small talk, and she decided to let it go that way until the right moment to bring up Daniel's "accident".

There was something magnetic about Robin, she decided. It was perhaps, the way he held himself, in his demeanor: totally at ease, self-assured, friendly. He was a good-looking man,  yes although not picture perfect. He dressed nicely and with good taste for a bachelor. His hair was cute carefully with no razor edges showing. She noticed his fair complexion and that walking in the sun made his skin from the neck down kind of red. She noticed, too, that his blue eyes were fringed with thick lashes and she could not help but wonder if he had a girlfriend. 

Robin ordered oyster stew. Regina chose a salad. A basked of hot, freshly baked corn bread had arrived―the house specialty. Butter melted on it invitingly. 

"Look, Miss Mills..." Robin had began. Then he smiled ruefully, those dimples showing. "I can't call you Miss Mills. Daniel always called you Regina.  I think is more appropriate. Do you mind?"

She shook her head, licking corn bread crumbs off her fingers daintily. "And you're Robin, right?"

"Right. What I was going to say was this; if it bothers you to talk about Daniel, tell me and I won't. I'm not sure how to handle this whole thing." 

Regina leaned her elbows on the table. "You know, I always thought it would be hard to talk about someone who died. You could never mention or you would cry. But it's not like that. I loved Daniel. I still do. It's as if he were out of the room or on a job somewhere. He's gone, but he's not dead. Oh, I'm not making sense. But he's  _there_ and it doesn't hurt to talk about him. I  _want_ to remember."

Robin was looking at her closely, as if trying to figure her out. But she was so uncomplicated, really. And Daniel must have talked to Robin about her. Surely he had. If Daniel Colter had a failing, it was his love of talking to others about those close to him. She narrowed her eyes and wondered, suddenly, exactly how much Daniel had told Robin about her. It gave her a distinctly odd feeling to imagine that this stranger had heard. 

More to the point was what Regina knew about Robin Locksley. She dredged up all the morsels Daniel had told her about him.

Trustworthy. That was the salient point. Daniel had said the traitor was in his office. It could be any of them, Regina had supposed, but it was surely not this man, Daniel's partner, whom he had said he trusted with his life. She had bank on that.

She sipped her wine, noting that the one thing Daniel had neglected to mention about Robin was how ruggedly handsome he was.

"I understand you live on Martha's vineyard," Robin was saying. "I've never been there, although I almost feel I know your place. Daniel talked about it so much." He leaned back, and Regina noticed the outline of a gun under his jacket. Daniel had never worn one when he had been with her, but then, she had not visited him much during working hours.

A gun. She shivered mentally. The Secret Service, Regina knew, had two main functions: to protect the president and his family and visiting dignitaries, and to protect the country from counterfeiters or violations against the nation's monetary security. It was a division of the Department of Treasury, a largely known fact, and its agents did investigative work―office work. Only rarely did a man actually face physical danger. But the gun wasn't needed to remind her that sometimes they were, indeed, put in jeopardy. Like Daniel...

Nervously, she took another sip from her glass and looked out the small-paned window onto the narrow, picturesque Boston street. She would have to tell him. Someone had to help her. There was no one she could trust. 

She took a deep breath, straining the buttons on her cream blouse in the process, and pushed some of the hair back behind her ear. "Robin? I've got to tell you something. It's about Daniel..." she had started it all wrong. "I mean its something about what Daniel told me."

He looked puzzled. "I'm not sure..."

She leaned forward across the table. "That's why I came into Boston today. But your Chief Spencer... Well, he wasn't any help."

"What is it, Regina? Was Daniel in some kind of trouble?"

"No. Well." She stopped and looked up to the ceiling. Her eyes closed, trying to organize her thoughts. "You know that Gorvieski is stopping in Boston on his American Tour."

It was no secret. Everyone in the country was familiar with the name Viktor Gorvieski, the general secretary of the Soviet Union's Communist party. A powerful man, a young and forward-looking leader who had been warming to the West. A man of new generation who might bring peace between the superpowers, someone who would certainly bring moderation and reason to the bargaining table. 

"Yes, sure." There was a frown on Robin's face, making him seem older than the thirty three Regina knew him to be. 

"Daniel found out something before he...died. He told me." She looked at him, trying desperately to be convincing. If  _he_ didn't believe her... "He noticed, first was that Gorvieski's itinerary, the one your office has been working on, was missing over a weekend. His Boston itinerary, with all its security precautions. It worried him, so he kept an eye out. He saw someone put it back and he decided to follow this person." She took another breath. Did he believe her? His face was intent, but he could not tell what he was thinking. 

"This person met a Soviet military attaché in Boston Common and gave him some papers. That was when Daniel had decided to confront this...this traitor. He discussed it with me. You can imagine how upset he was. Someone in his own office. And this trip by Gorvieski was so important. I mean, it would be disastrous if anything happened." 

Robin spoke finally. "Are you trying to tell me that someone provided this Russian with our security arrangements? What for, Regina?" His tone was slow and deliberate, heavy with question and doubt. 

"So Gorvieski could be assassinated." The words fell from her lips breathlessly. "Daniel was almost positive. He went over and over it, and there was no possible explanation." 

"Daniel checked out the Russian attaché that the traitor had been seeing, and the Russian was one of the old guard who wants to keep the Cold War going. The old guard hates Gorvieski and his new ideas and is jealous of his power and popularity. Daniel explained it all to me." Her voice was pleading. Robin had to believe her. 

Robin finally leaned forward over the small table, "What did Spencer say to all this?" 

Regina looked down at her hands. "I—I didn't tell him everything. Only that I thought Daniel's death was not an accident."

"Why not?"

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze openly. I don't know who the traitor in your office is. I was afraid—"

He interrupted almost angrily. "You mean Daniel told you everything but who it was?"

"Yes." she whispered. "I only know it was an agent at your office. He was afraid to tell me who, though, until it was out in the open. He said it was to protect me. Just in case."

Robin let out a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, concentrating hard, his brows furrowed. The seconds ticked by endlessly, Regina was sure she didn't breathe once.

At last he spoke; his voice was hard. "Why  _did_ you go to see Spencer?"

"I didn't know what else to do. I had called him a few times but he was busy or out of town, I thought it he believed me..."

"Believed you about what?" 

"Daniel's death." She fixed her wide, brown eyes on him. "It wasn't an accident, you know. Daniel was murdered. I knew it right away. He confronted the traitor and the man shot him."

 _"What...?"_ Robin began, shocked. He caught himself and shook his head slowly. "Hold on a bit there. This is bloody heavy."

"I know. I've had a month to think about it. I'm sorry I dropped this on you like a bomb, but what else can I do? You believe me, don't you?"

"Believe you? Regina, this is a bloody blockbuster. Give me a minute." He put up a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it as if to relieve a knot of tension. Then he stopped short and stared at her. "Why tell  _me_? Maybe I'm the one." 

She shook her head emphatically. "No. Daniel trusted you." 

"Then why in the bloody hell didn't you get to me earlier?"

Twisting her hands in agitation, Regina said. "I don't know. I was so upset. I couldn't sleep. I was sort of out of my head for a while. I...I guess I just didn't think. And then it had been a month and your chief never returned my calls and I knew I had to do something."

"I'm sorry," replied Robin, "you've been through a lot."

"No, no, it's okay. I should have called you first. To tell the truth, when you didn't come to the funeral, I forgot all about you." She smiled weakly. "I had a lot of things on my mind."

Robin was silent, massaging his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Her heart thudded with apprehension. He had not said he believed her yet. 

He stopped. "Let me get this straight. Daniel saw this person from our office give Gorvieski's itinerary to a known Russian hawk. He assumed this was done for the purpose of breaching our security to assassinate Gorvieski. Daniel went to confront this person and was shot, allegedly by a burglar. Am I right?"

"Yes." Regina felt her eyes filled with tears, an uncontrollable reaction she had whenever she thought of Daniel facing that man alone, seeing the gun, feeling the bullet smash into him. Horrible, horrible...

A shadow crossed Robin's face and he put a hand out as if to touch her arm, then withdrew it. But his voice was soft when he spoke. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so callous about it. I'm just trying to get this all straight in my mind."

She dabbed her eyes with a crumpled napkin. "I'm fine. I just can't help it, sometimes." She paused, and then asked again. "You believe me, don't you?"

He was slow in answering. When he spoke, it was half to himself. "Daniel was preoccupied for a time back then. I thought it was because of Gorvieski's trip and all the overtime. But it could have been..." His blue eyes came up t meet her brown orbs. "The police. What do they think?"

"That it was just a burglar. They haven't got any other explanation, and I knew that if I told them the whole story, they would think I was insane. I have no real proof."

"I will have to check their reports, but yes, it all fits. It could be."

"It's true. I tell you! Daniel would not make this all up!"

His gaze held hers intently. "No," Robin said slowly, "he would not."

He was still watching her, fixing her with grave regard.

"Did you say anything else to the Chief?"

She shook her head but then suddenly remembered. "I did tell him one thing."

"What was that?"

"Well, that Daniel confided things to me."

"I see. And what did the Chief say?"

"He said something about 'pillow talk' and implied that information—security stuff—often get leaked that way."

"So, the chief pretty much knew that Daniel had told you things he shouldn't have?"

"I guess he assumed that." A small knot of apprehension was coiling in Regina's stomach.

"Do you have any idea what I am driving at, Regina?"

"I hope I'm wrong."

"You might as well have told the chief that you know everything."

"No! I mean," she hastened to say, "It cannot be Chief Spencer!"

"Say it isn't" came Robin's low-pitched voice.

Say it's any one of the number of people in our office. The chief doesn't realize there's a traitor and believe me he'll have every agent there in his office this afternoon lecturing about breaches of security. And they will know the reason for the lecture, too."

"Because of my visit," she said slowly, in a voice filled with dread.

"Exactly. Every one of them will know Daniel talked to you."

"So I've let the traitor know that Daniel had confided in me."

His silence was all the answer she needed.

Regina bit her lower lip. "I have really done it now, haven't I? Let the cat out of the bag."

"There is a chance of it."

"This is just...just great." She met Robin's solemn gaze; the deep concern she saw there did not reassure her any, not a bit. "I'm in danger, am I?"

"I wish it was, otherwise."

She wanted to ask him just how much danger she was in, but somehow the words stuck like glue in her throat. Instead, she merely looked at him, fear squeezing in her chest. 

"Have you told anyone about this?" His question shot at her like a dart.

She felt her face drain with blood. She nodded slowly. "My mother," she whispered.

His hard blue eyes held her.

"Oh, no," murmured Regina brokenly. 

Silence hung between them, taut and threatening. The clatter of dishes and chatter of conversation surrounded Regina, yet the noise seemed distant, muted, unreal. The only reality was Robin, across from her, his face troubled. 

"Go home, Regina," he said softly. "Right now. Don't talk to anyone, don't answer questions. I'll be in touch, okay?"'

She nodded, scared, her face drained of its usual high color.

"Nothing's going to happen right away. Whoever it is has to make sure..."

He reached across the table and took her hand, softly squeezed it. 

"Everything's going to be fine. Don't worry. You did the right thing by telling me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) I decided to post the next chapter ASAP just because I think I will be working 9 straight days next week and I may not have the time then. Comments, and feedback are all welcome! :D 
> 
> P/S I have an account in ff.net but I think am too lazy to post my stories there, IDK since years ago I think it changed how you post? LOL.

The temperature read eighty-six on the digital display at a corner bank as Robin Locksley walked down Atlantic Avenue to his office building. 

He had to admit to himself that Regina Mills' story had shaken him badly. He had tried not to let her see how disturbed he'd been. She had enough trouble. But now he felt chill all over. 

This was big, bloody, real big. His mind churned, examining information, discarding, conjuring up possibilities. Deep in his gut he had a void, an alien lonely feeling, because he knew there wasn't a soul in the office he could trust with this earth shattering story. 

The circumstances surrounding Daniel Colter's death, Robin realized, had been subconsciously gnawing at him for the past month. The police theory that Daniel had interrupted a burglar had never felt quite right to Robin. Now, of course, he knew why. 

There was a lot he had to do. Gorvieski would arrive in Boston in three weeks, right after the president's Labor Day vacation, and someone had the knowledge to bypass the elaborate security measures set up by the Secret Service to protect the man. An assassination plot. And Robin was the only man on earth who could make sure it never came off. 

Robin entered the fourteen-story cement building that housed the Secret Service office. Again he felt that unfamiliar chilling hand pressing on him, hurrying him to warn an unknown destiny. As he pushed open the door and entered the office area, Robin realized with a sick feeling that he was having trouble looking at his co-workers in the eye.

"Hey, Robin!" Agent Leroy Grump strode out of his cubicle and walked over to Robin. "How's Daniel's girl? What's her name?"

"Mills. Regina Mills."

"Yeah. How is she doing, anyway?" Grump followed Robin around a secretary's desk and into Robin's small office.

"She's fine. Under the circumstances," he added, avoiding Leroy's curious glance.

"Of course I didn't know you knew her."

"I don't really."

"Lunch, though," suggested Leroy inquisitively. 

Robin's back went stiff; he fought irritation. "Hey, you know me, Leroy.Besides, Daniel was my partner, I just thought she might need a friend. What is it to you?"

"Nothing, Rob. Just curious."

Robin tossed his jacket over the back of his chair and loosened his tie. "Sorry. I guess it was the way you said 'lunch'."

"Just being nosy." Leroy sat down comfortably as if to settle in for a chat. "She's a nice-looking lady."

"Hmm." replied Robin absently as he shuffled through a few papers. Then he looked up at Leroy, one of the only agents in the Boston branch of the Secret Service with top-security clearance. Leroy had a slight accent and rugged looks with full beard. He was american, but was born in Hungary, actually. His head was shaved, Kojak style, so that his age could be anywhere from forty-five to fifty.

They were friends. But today Robin didn't feel particularly friendly. He looked into those clear innocent hazel eyes and wondered:  _is it Grump?_

"You okay?" asked Leroy.

Robin shrugged. "Fine. I was just thinking..."

"About a case?"

"Yes," lied Robin, "it's this counterfeiting ring in Maine again. The situation has me baffled."

"Yes, well, I'd be glad to help, but the FBI has been bugging us to cooperate on a case of interstate hijacking. One of the suspects turned up with some phony fifty-dollar bills on him and a forged Treasury check."

Robin nodded. It went through his mind that Leroy Grump had been with the service for ten, maybe eleven, years. Robin himself had been there for six years, and, of course, didn't know half the ins and outs that Leroy did. Could Leroy have ties in the old country, ties to the hawkish old guard? Or could someone in his homeland be blackmailing him through some family member still over there? What of Leroy's talk about the Hungary someday throwing off the shackles that tied it to Mother Russia? Was it a bunch of deliberately misleading rubbish?

"So is Miss Mills in Boston for long?" asked Leroy.

"I don't know. I guess I forgot to ask."

"She's from where? Cape Cod?"

"Martha's Vineyard," said Robin without thinking. "Or maybe it  _is_ the Cape," he added offhandedly. "She didn't say, exactly."

"She came to see the chief, didn't she?"

Robin glanced up idly. "You know she did."

"Just visiting?"

"I guess so."

"She sure seemed uptight when she left his office. Was it about Daniel?"

Robin shrugged. "Hey, the lady didn't use me as father confessor. Now, bloody hell, Grump, I have work to do."

"You _both_ have work to do" came a voice at the door. It was the chief. "And if you have all those cases on your desks cleared up, I'm sure I can find you something else."

Leroy grinned and rose from his seat. "That's okay, Chief, we get the hint."

When Grump was gone, the chief paused for another moment. His fingers, Robin noted, were tapping the wooden door frame. "Did Miss Mills say anything...unusual at lunch?"

Robin steepled his fingers and met his boss's gaze.

"Like what?"

Spencer stepped into the office and closed the door. "She was hinting around this morning, something about Daniel's death. I could not get her to say exactly what was troubling her, though. I thought, because you were close to Daniel, that she might have confided in you."

"Nothing. Just small talk."

"So she never mentioned Daniel's death as possibly not being an accident?"

"Not being an accident?"

"You know, his accidentally interrupting a burglar. She thinks it might have been something else."

"No, not a thing."

The chief pulled the door back open. "Well, I hope she can find some peace of mind, because it's been a month and the police do not have anymore to go on now than they did then."

"I know," said Robin. "It makes me sick to think about it." 

Spencer shook his balding head. "We're all sick about it. Daniel was a fine agent." 

Robin sat for a long time, unable to get Daniel out of his head. And Regina was in his thoughts, as well. Too much so. Of course, that was Daniel's fault for talking about her incessantly. How wonderful she was, how competent, how beautiful—although Robin described her as stunning. Audacious, despite what she is going through. In his mind's eye he could see her medium length black hair stirring in the hot Boston breeze and the brown of her eyes reflecting the sunlight. She had worn hardly any makeup, just a dark red lipstick which made her lips luscious—as sinful as it may sound and her skin had the dewy, fresh look of a pink rose petal. She wore no earrings, no necklace, no rings. She had an irresistible but elusive smile, and when she does, she was utterly sincere. Lucky Daniel.

Obviously, Robin thought, she was enterprising, too, having written several cookbooks, cleverly using the lore of Martha's Vineyard as background. Naturally, Daniel had pointed them out in the bookstores, even talked Robin into purchasing one as birthday present for his stepsister-in-law last year. 

Regina was lovely, all right, twenty-seven years old and full of life. But she had not been outgoing and relaxed at lunch. And somehow that bothered Robin—it didn't seem fair.

He felt he almost knew her, thanks to Daniel; he even knew all about her mother, Cora, and the old, rickety mansion they lived in on the far side of Martha's Vineyard. Robin knew plenty. He knew the date Daniel and Regina had set for their autumn wedding; he knew that Regina was planning to move into Boston with Daniel and had been apartment hunting. He knew that she and Daniel had been sweethearts since their early teenage years. He even knew from a night in town with Daniel that Regina wore a A-cup bra. 

As Robin sat there staring off into the middle distance, he realized he knew far too much about Miss Regina Mills. It made him decidedly ill at ease. Robin didn't like to know anyone that well; he was more comfortable keeping an amiable yet definite distance—especially with women. But Regina had been Daniel's girl, and it had been okay to listen to his buddy's constant bragging. Regina Mills had been merely a name—then. But now she had come to him, bereft, alone, anxious, needing help.

Help, he thought. She had dumped a time bomb right into his lap! And there wasn't a soul he dared trust. Not even his own boss, Albert Spencer. 

He went over the plot in his mind once more. It was diabolical and foolproof. If Gorvieski were to be assassinated on U.S. soil, the deed would destroy the fragile hope of peace between the superpowers. The upcoming summit would be canceled, and there would be no hope of arms control talk over the years. Back to the Cold War—or worse.

So how to stop the plan? Sure the itinerary Gorvieski was to follow could be changed, but what was to keep the traitor among them from leaking the new itinerary to the Russian who wanted Gorvieski dead? What Robin had to do, in only three weeks, was to find the traitor.

His mind churned. Who was it? Mentally, he went over every agent in the relatively small office. Some of the secretaries had access, by necessity, to top security documents, too. But then he remembered that Gorvieski's itinerary had been typed up by Daniel himself. Even Robin hadn't had a chance to review it yet. But Albert Spencer had. And Leroy Grump had worked on it. So had Jefferson Hatter, an agent who had transferred in from the San Francisco office a year ago. 

No one else had actually had their hands on it yet. Nor would they, until the day of Gorvieski's arrival. It was locked up in tight in the top-security file, and only five men had access to it: the chief, Grump, Hatter, Robin and August Booth, the chief's assistant.

August could be ruled out, Robin knew, because he'd just returned from a six-month computer course in Washington. That left three men and three lousy weeks...

* * *

 

Just as Robin had predicted, Albert Spencer summoned all the agents and several secretaries into his office sometime around three in the afternoon. 

Robin, knowing what was coming, cringed when Spencer spoke. 

"I've called you into my office," began Spencer "to discuss security. I would never take anything away from Daniel Colter, but as you're no doubt aware I was visited this morning by his fiancée, and it was clear to me that Miss Mills knew a few things that she shouldn't have."

Leroy Grump cleared his throat. 

Jefferson Hatter's eyes shifted nervously around the small office. 

Robin tried to look noncommittal and watched everyone's reactions. Carefully.

"Needless to say," continued the chief, slowly and deliberately, "each one of you is aware of the stiff penalty for breaching security. This pillow talk  _will—"_  he looked them all in the eye separately. "—stop. Is that clear?"

"Aye, aye, Chief," said Leroy. 

"Yes, sir," came Jefferson's thin voice. 

"I never say anything to anyone," said a secretary with security credentials. 

Others nodded obediently. 

Robin said, "Yes, sir," perfunctorily, realizing that Regina was in more danger than ever. Now the guilty man  _knew_ Daniel had talked to her. 

At five-thirty, Robin left the office, fired up his Ford Bronco and fought the heavy evening traffic on Sporrow Drive heading toward the suburb where his stepbrother, David lived. The familiar route was picturesque, winding along the Charles River, past the famous open-air shell of the Boston Pops Orchestra, past MIT on the far side of the river. Summer school students were strolling along the green shaded riverbank watching rowing shells skimming the water like narrow, many legged water bugs.

David Nolan had chosen a nice neighborhood in which to raise his family. All solid brick, English ivy and trees. Mary Margaret, Robin's stepsister-in-law, epitomized Boston suburban life. Shetland sweaters, flowered skirts, colorful matching pumps. Mary Margaret is youthful and attractive. She wore a pixie-cut hair and her make up was never smudged. Robin liked her a lot. She had a keen sense of humor, and not once in her ten years of marriage to Robin's stepbrother since they finished college, had she tried to fix Robin up on a date. 

It was seven-year-old Emma who raced to Robin's SUV when he pulled into the shrubbery-lined driveway. 

"Uncle Robin!" 

He stepped out and tousled her blonde hair. "Where's your dad, Emma?"

"Out back. Can I have a piggyback ride?" 

One ride turned into three, since two-year-old Neal had to have one each, also. 

"Will you leave your uncle alone!" demanded David finally. "Sorry, Robin. These kids have no blasted manners whatsoever these days." 

Robin popped the top on a beer can, shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie and settled into a hammock under the sprawling branches of an old elm tree. "I love the kids. They're great. Of course, I can always turn them back over to you and Mary Margaret—" Robin grinned devilishly "—and return to my stack bachelor abode." 

"You'll get yours someday," said David, his standard remark. 

Robin and David were stepbrothers, when Robin ran away from home, David thought it was because of him, so he tracked him down and eventually found him when he enlisted in Military School, they kept in touch, and had been close ever since. Her mother died, he found out because of pneumonia, and David was the only family linked to his mother that was left. He never heard again from his father back in England. 

David was a year older, and still looked like the dashing prince charming he was often teased back in high school, with his blonde hair and blue eyes. He was sure he would have been in the force, but he opted to have a financial job. 

"So to what do we owe this visit?" asked David as he shook charcoal from a bag onto an outdoor grill.

"I need to ask you something."

"Phone wouldn't do?"

Robin shook his head sipping on the beer in his reclining position. "Nope. But I'm afraid I can't say why. Not just yet, anyway."

"Okay, so ask away."

"Does the computer at your bank have access to other Boston bank computers?"

"Some." David turned to look at his step-brother questioningly. 

"But not all of them?"

"Most. This is the 1980s."

"So, say I wanted to find out what an individual's bank account looked like, could I access it through your bank's computer?"

"A balance, yes. But as far as the monthly activity in an account..."

"That's not possible?"

"Well..." David hesitated, then shrugged. "There are certain access codes we can use."

"Is it illegal to use them?"

"Designated officers can do it. I'm the bank manager so I can. But actually it's considered shady banking, Rob."

"But, it can be done, right?"

"Possibly." he paused. "What are you up to, anyway?"

"It's a special assignment. Top secret, David. I can't tell you."

"But I gather you may want to ask me to get you some information, right?"

Robin tossed his beer can toward a trash barrel. It missed. "Possibly."

"Okay, Mr. Top Secret. What if I said no? Not without a subpoena."

"I can't get a subpoena."

David studied Robin for a minute, then squirted some charcoal starter onto the coals. "Are you working outside the Service, then?"

Robin nodded. "So far. But I promise you one thing—it's big. And it's important or you know I'd never ask."

"There you two are." Mary Margaret came around the back of the house from the garage, lugging two grocery bags. Robin took them from her. "You look good," she said, kissing his cheek.

"Well, I don't feel so great," he replied as he stepped into the house carrying the groceries.

Mary Margaret followed. "Problems?"

"Afraid so."

"Can we help?"

"Not really. I'm on my own."

"Oh, my," Mary Margaret pursed her lips. "A spy out in the cold. My handsome, stepbrother-in-law."

"I'm not in the cold, Mary Margaret, and I'm not a spy."

"Well, I tell everyone you are."

"Brilliant."

They put the groceries away and then joined David and the kids outside.

"Don't forget," said Emma to her Uncle Robin, "my birthday is..." Emma put up three fingers.

"In three days," supplied her uncle.

"You haven't asked me what I want." she pouted. 

"Maybe I'll forget," teased Robin.

"Oh, no, you won't! And I want a Cabbage Patch doll, Uncle Robbie."

"I wouldn't buy one of those ugly things for my worst enemy," said Robin, his blue eyes alight with laughter.

"They're not ugly!" protested the seven-year-old.

Robin kept up the game over hamburgers and salad, but all the while, he felt his thought straying to that day, three weeks hence—the day Gorvieski would step off a plane in Boston and climb into a limousine.

David walked him to his SUV after the kids had been put to bed. "Look," David said, "if I can help...Even the computer,"

"You don't even know what it is."

"And I doubt you'll tell me. But I have never seen you look so preoccupied."

"Does it show that bad?"

"Yes." David leaned over and spoke through the SUV's window. "Are you in danger, Robin?"

"Not me, not specifically. Not yet, anyway." He said distractedly, unaware of David's serious expression.

He drove through the warm, dark evening to his apartment in Somerville. It might not be a picturesque or classy area, but it was cheap and convenient and clean. Practical for a single man with no pretensions to impressing the ladies.

His flat was on the bottom floor of one of the large, three-story wooden buildings that covered the hills of the Boston metropolitan area. He had rented it furnished, moved in his clothes and toilet articles and there it was—home.

He had never really had a home. Perhaps Hubert's house was the closest he'd ever had. But still, it had not been his, not quite. It had been a foster home.

Daniel had been about to have a home, he thought, flicking on the kitchen light and rummaging around for something to drink. But Daniel was dead and would never have a home or share a laugh with Regina again. The waste struck him once more.

Even as he hung his suit neatly in the closet and tucked his white shirt into the laundry bag, he could see Regina Mill's in his mind's eye. He pictured her as she'd been that afternoon: worried, leaning toward him across the table, her chest pressing against the table, her hands playing nervously with a napkin, her voice soft and begging to help. But beyond that—he saw that there is a woman who will fight for what she believed in. No one had ever asked Robin for help before; he had never allowed anyone close enough for that. He slept that night thinking about Daniel, about Regina and how he needs to do everything to protect her. 

 


End file.
